When Dreaming Becomes a Luxury

In a time of rising costs and quiet hardship, too many ALICE families are losing the ability to imagine a brighter future.

As I sit here sipping my energy tea, I keep thinking about the young woman who made it for me. She’s in community college, working her way through classes, and dreaming of starting a small business with a friend after she graduates. I told her about the BCCC Small Business Center and encouraged her to talk with Jack Dugan if she truly wants to chase that dream.

She’s not the only one behind that counter with big plans. Another young woman just got married-balancing college, a job, and her family’s business. Another welcomed a baby last winter. All of them are working hard, studying hard, and hoping for a bright future. Their eyes still hold that spark of possibility.

But for many ALICE families in our region, that spark is dimming. For some, it may have gone out entirely.

In our four counties, 35% of households are ALICE; Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed. These are working families who earn above the federal poverty level but still cannot afford the basics: housing, food, childcare, transportation, healthcare, and a small emergency cushion. They don’t qualify for most assistance programs, yet they are one unexpected bill away from crisis. They are doing everything right; working, contributing, raising children, showing up but still can’t get ahead.

And in today’s economic climate, the pressure is only intensifying. Prices rise. Wages don’t. Families stretch every dollar until it frays. Behind closed doors, where we can’t see, the crisis is unfolding quietly: empty cupboards, rationed prescriptions, utility shut‑off notices, eviction warnings slipped under doors. These are not dramatic headlines, they’re the daily reality for thousands of our neighbors.

So I find myself asking: How can anyone dream under that kind of strain? How do you imagine a future when you’re fighting to survive the present? How do you plan for tomorrow when today is already too much?

And then I ask the harder question: How can we, as community members, stand by and watch our neighbors struggle? Where is our humanity?

So ask yourself:

Why should I show up for my neighbor?

Could I?

Will I?

Why wouldn’t I.

This is not someone else’s crisis. It is ours. It is happening in our towns, on our roads, in the homes we pass every day. We may not see the hardship, but we know it’s there. And in a rural, economically stressed region like ours, the only way forward is together.

We cannot fix everything overnight. But we can refuse to look away. We can choose to show up. We can choose to care. Because when dreaming becomes a luxury, community must become a lifeline.